Through the Years
by Sparky Dorian
Summary: How Jim Kirk discovers that the family you're born with is important, but isn't the only one you can have. Kirk-centric. Two-shot, gen.
1. Chapter 1

My love for Star Trek laid dormant for a little while... But man, is it back in full force. I've written most of this very late at night and without much fact-checking, so I apologize for any mistakes or inaccuracies. I welcome having those pointed out. Let me know what you think, and enjoy!

* * *

James Tiberius Kirk is ten days old.

Winona holds him close and doesn't let go.

He's small-so, so small, nearly a month premature. She hears the doctors and nurses whisper about a stress-induced labor and possible future complications and blocks them out. This baby, George's baby, is perfect.

Each time she looks at him she fears her heart will shatter. Her emotions split into two poles, and tear her in half with the separation. He is a beautiful little boy, and she is so happy that he's here, alive and safe and whole. Despite all the advances of modern medicine, Winona has a history of difficult pregnancies. The three miscarriages following Sam's birth had nearly extinguished her hope of another child. And in that respect, James brings her unimaginable joy.

But every glance reminds her of George's absence. This baby was part of the reason he gave his life. She knew her husband well, and his sense of duty to family and crew were evenly matched. Keeping James safe was one of his chief motivations.

He is gone, never having even seen his son, and the boy will be hers to raise alone.

She feels so _alone_.

The door slides open with a hiss. "Doctor Tevana will be in to speak with you in a moment, ma'am.'

The nurse picks up a tablet and begins checking over their readings. Winona lets out a silent breath. Tevana, councillor on this ship, is a good man. But he does not understand her or her feelings. None of them do.

They are frustrated by her blankness, baffled by her lack of denial.

But there was never any room for denial. She knows her husband is dead, felt his death stab into her chest, and feels it even now. Every breath she takes stings. Her lungs are tight, her emotions raw, and the grief tears through her stomach like a wolf.

So she has no denial. Only fear, anger, and pain.

Without him, her world is dark.

"Would you like me to take the baby during your session, ma'am?" The nurse asks politely.

Winona hesitates.

"I'd rather not talk to Doctor Tevana today," she says quietly.

"Very well, I'll let him know."

Winona looks down at James. The tilt of his nose and the soft curves of his cheeks and mouth are so exactly like George's that she can't quite inhale.

"Nurse," she says, and the woman turns back.

"Maybe you could take him anyway? Just... for a little while."

She closes her eyes as the nurse takes James, removing the weight from her chest.

He doesn't cry. She does.

* * *

Jimmy is one year old.

Sammy is nine, and he hasn't ever seen a baby run like this. Some of his friends have younger brothers and sisters, and none of them do. They stumble and toddle around, a few steps at a time.

Not his brother.

Jimmy was in that stage for about three days, a couple months before his birthday-really, he just went straight from crawling to running. Sammy doesn't think any of them actually saw him take his first steps. He was at school and Mom was home with the baby, and Sammy came home to find Jimmy already taking tentative walks around the living room.

He has a mental image of Jimmy pulling himself up along the edge of the coffee table, tiny hands straining to hold on, and going from baby to toddler all on his own.

It makes Sammy a little sad, but he's also proud.

Jimmy is going to be the best younger brother ever.

* * *

The second time he almost dies, he's three.

(The circumstances around his birth count as the first time. It's a wonder it took this long to the second.)

"It'll be ok, Jimmy, I gotcha." Sam holds his brother close to his chest, his fingers shaking as he dials the emergency number.

Jimmy is pale and red by turns, his breaths coming in short little gasps. His hands are swollen up, just like his face and his throat.

"S-Sammy," he chokes out.

He can't say his "s" quite right yet, so Sam's name always comes out sounding a bit like a curse word. Usually he has to hold back a laugh, but tonight it just makes him swallow very hard.

If he never heard that again, he doesn't know how he'd live.

"I got you, I promise." Sam blinks tears out of his eyes and makes his voice go real steady on the comm unit.

"Emergency services, Iowa division. What is the nature of your emergency?"

"I don't know," Sam says, evenly. "I gave my brother a dose of cough medicine so he might be able to sleep a little better, and he's-I think he's having a reaction. He's all purple and he can't breathe."

"Is there an adult in the house?" The woman's voice is distant.

"No." Sam's voice gets quieter. "No, it's just us." His heart hurts. "Please hurry. I don't think he'll make it if you don't hurry."

Even now, Jimmy is going stiller, his whimpers and gasps not nearly so loud.

"What's your name?"

"Sam. G-George Samuel Kirk," he says, hugging tighter. "And my brother is Jimmy."

The slight change in her tone tells him her recognizes their names. "Alright, Sam, I'm sending an ambulance right now. They shouldn't be more than a few minutes away. Just stay on the phone with me until they get there, okay?"

"Yeah, ok." Sam mumbles answers to her questions, but mostly he just watches Jimmy's face, the slow flutter of his eyelashes, and keeps two fingers on his pulse.

"You gotta make it, Jimmy," he whispers. "You just gotta."

* * *

Jimmy is five, and he thinks kissing is disgusting.

He thinks it's even _more_ disgusting after he walks in on Sam and some girl kissing on the couch. He gags and covers his eyes.

"Sam!" He almost shrieks. It isn't very dignified, but he thinks it's allowed in this moment. There's a smacking sound as they pull their mouths apart and Jimmy gags again.

"_Jimmy_," Sam's lips turn down-he's annoyed. "I thought you were going to a friend's house after school."

"I decided not to," Jimmy says. "Come play catch with me, Sammy, make her go home."

"Go play outside," Sam snaps. "I'm not babysitting you."

"But-"

"Go!"

Jimmy slams the door and throws his baseball at the tree, as hard as he can. A piece of bark chips off and the baseball lands in the dirt.

He picks it up, scales the tree, and rubs his eyes hard. The boys in his class say that only babies cry, so he isn't going to. But his chest feels all tight and his stomach feels heavy. Sammy hasn't shouted at him like that before, not ever.

And to make it worse, he never even had plans to go to a friend's house after school. He just said that so that Mom wouldn't feel bad about staying at her training all day instead of leaving early. There are some kids at school he plays with at recess, and they like him well enough, but he isn't close to them. He could count on his hands the number of times he's gone to play with somebody outside of school.

Sammy is his only real friend, and if he doesn't have him, he doesn't have anybody.

He stays in the tree for a long time, pushing his knees against his eyes until they go black and starry. The air starts getting cold and he shivers, but he doesn't get down. "Jimmy?" Sam's footsteps come down the cement steps and Jimmy goes quiet.

"G'way," he mumbles.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout at you. And you know I like playing with you. I was just frustrated, is all. Please come down?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No! I hate you!"

There's a very long pause, then a scuffling sound as Sam climbs the tree too. He touches Jimmy's shoulder, but Jimmy just shrugs it off.

"Hey."

He doesn't respond.

Sam doesn't say anything else for awhile. He sits, not touching, but close enough that Jimmy can feel the heat coming off him. After a few minutes, he rubs Jimmy's back.

"I'm real sorry. I love you."

He lifts his head and sniffles.

"You yelled at me," he says, accusingly and with an edge of hurt.

Sam looks down. "I know." He drapes an arm around Jimmy and pulls him closer. "Sometimes people do dumb things, and sometimes those things hurt the ones they care about the most. I felt awful the second I did it. I can't promise I won't ever do it again, 'cause I'm not perfect. Nobody's perfect. But you're my only brother, and I can promise that I'll always love you. 'kay?"

Jimmy buries his face into Sam's shirt and hugs him tight. "'kay. I love you too."

They stay like that till the moon is high above them, and they're both shivering. Sam jumps down and catches Jimmy when he slips off the low branch, then they both start heading inside.

An afterthought occurs to him, and he wrinkles his nose. "Why would you wanna kiss her, anyway?" He demands. "She's a _girl_, she has girl germs. And you got her spit in your mouth! That's gross, Sammy. What if she has a cold or something, too?"

Sam laughs, and ruffles Jimmy's hair. "You'll understand when you're older."

He scowls at that, but then they heat up a container of cheap tomato soup and Sam makes burnt grilled cheese sandwiches, and even though Jimmy has school in the morning, they eat together, huddled under a blanket, and watch old cartoons.

They fall asleep sprawled out on top of each other, comfortable, and don't wake up when Mom comes home.

* * *

Jimmy is six, and he's bored in school.

Everything the teacher says, he knows already, and even if they do happen to have something he hasn't heard before, he learns it in less than half the time the other kids do.

They give him the option to go to an advanced school on a Starfleet scholarship, but he says no. He doesn't want to move away from Sam. They offer to put him on an accelerated track or let him skip a grade-Mom says no to that. Sometimes Jimmy thinks she just wants him to be as normal as he can. But she says she thinks he'll have a harder time making friends with kids that way.

(He still doesn't have any close friends as it is, but he doesn't tell her that.)

So he brings his PADD to school, and hacks into the school's connection to download whatever he wants to read. While Miss Walker teaches basic math and words, he reads chapter books and starts memorizing his times tables. She doesn't get mad, as long as he passes the tests.

He's still bored, but at least Mom is happy.

* * *

Frank and Mom get married, and they all move in together.

Jimmy is seven, and he hasn't hated anybody before. But he hates Frank.

He _hates _him.

When they first meet, when he and Mom first start dating, Jimmy is cautiously hopeful. He doesn't want a dad, not really, but he thinks that maybe this new man could at least be his friend, and maybe take over some of the stuff that Sam has to do. He never complains, but Jimmy knows it stresses him out sometimes.

Their initial meeting goes pretty ok. Mom introduces them, and she looks a little happier than usual. For that, Jimmy decides that he could make himself learn to like Frank. If he's nice.

"Kids." Frank nods to them and shakes their hands, not saying anything else besides a comment on Sam's baseball glove.

After that, they don't see much of him until he and Mom get married. And when that happens, they find out what Frank is really like. Whenever Mom is around, he makes any disparaging remarks and barbs with a joking tone, ruffling their hair (a little too hard to be friendly) or slapping their backs. But when Mom leaves, back to work aboard a freight vessel, all of the humor is gone. And he isn't just not nice, he's _mean_.

He hates Starfleet, he hates aliens, he hates learning or being corrected or anything that isn't exactly like himself.

So he really doesn't like Sam or Jimmy.

"Sam?" Jimmy lays his hand against his brother's door, rubbing his eyes with the other hand. They're hot and burning, and his chin trembles. "Sammy, can I come in?"

Sam's voice is choked. "In a little while. Give me a minute."

The first time Frank hit Sammy, he ran off for the night. But the next day, Jimmy overheard the man threaten to do the same to him if Sam took off again.

So now he closes himself in his room, but he doesn't leave.

"Please?" Jimmy whispers. "It's ok if you cry. It doesn't make you a baby, not after that."

Sam lets out a strangled laugh and the door swings open. His eye is turning black, and his arms are bruised. Jimmy hugs him around the middle, gentle.

"You shouldn't let him hit you, Sammy," he says, fierce. "You're faster than him, I know you could get away."

Sam cards his fingers through Jimmy's hair, and speaks so quietly that Jimmy almost doesn't hear him. "If I did that, he'd hurt you instead. So it's worth it. And besides, it won't last forever."

They lock themselves in Sam's room and don't come out till morning.

* * *

Jim is almost nine, and Sam is gone.

He goes to Sam's room early one morning, beaming, ready to show him the science project he'd finally finished before bed. All he finds is an open window, an emptied closet, and a note.

_Dear Jimmy,_

_ I'm leaving. I hate to do it. I was going to try to wait it out a couple years, till I turned eighteen and maybe filed for custody, but I can't. I can't stay here anymore. I hate to leave you, Jimmy, but all this is killing me. I don't know where I'll go, but I know it'll be somewhere far away where nobody knows who I am and nobody will hurt me._

_ Mom doesn't believe what kind of a guy Frank is, not without seeing it. Maybe this will prove it to her, and you two can be ok again. I hope so. I love you, so you better look after yourself. I'm sorry I won't be able to do it for you. But we'll see each other again someday. I don't know when, or how, but we will. I promise. _

_ Love, Sam_

He stares for a long time, then hot tears spill onto his face. He doesn't even try to stop them, as he crumples up the note and throws it hard.

How could he? After he promised he'd always be there.

Thinking about it makes his stomach clench, and he can't breathe in all the way. Sam's closet is still open, so he closes himself in there and tugs down one of the few things Sam left behind. It's an old sweater, dark blue and worn out at the elbows. It smells like laundry detergent and dust and Sam's soap.

He buries his face in it and sobs. It tears through his chest and makes his shoulders shake, and it hurts. His throat goes raw and his eyes sting and he can't make himself stop, no matter how hard he tries.

Sam is _gone_.

* * *

Jimmy is nine, and Winona can't believe how much he's changed in the five months she's been away. Her last visit had been brief, only a few days, and since then he's grown at least three full inches.

His eyes look much older. She knows why. When she received the call about Sam running away from home...

It's her fault, for being away so often. The authorities are looking for him, but they tell her not to hope. Sam's academic record speaks to his intelligence, and if he doesn't want to be found, they say he won't be.

She'll never stop hoping. He's her boy, and all she can hope is that he'll come home when he's ready, safe and whole.

In the meantime, she has another son to worry about. And she is _worried_.

His face is blank when she firsts walks in, bags slung over her shoulder. She drops them and hurries to him, crouching down.

"Jimmy," she breathes. She hugs him tight.

He pushes away weakly, body stiff. "Don't call me that," he snaps, eyes fierce. "Nobody gets to call me that. It's _Jim_."

"Alright. Okay. Jim." She pulls him back in and cups the back of his head, inhaling the smell of his hair. "I'm so glad you're al-safe."

She almost says _alright_, but she knows he isn't.

"Don't go off-planet again, Mom," he whispers, his hands fisted into her uniform. "Please. Don't go. Stay."

It's the first time he's made such a request since he was four years old. She nods numbly and hugs him closer.

She gives her response just as quietly. "I'll stay."

* * *

Jim is eleven. Mom's been gone for six months, the first sixth months of what's supposed to be a year-and-a-half science mission. She stays planetside for eight months, the longest since he was three, and she would stayed longer if he asked.

But he feels too guilty to ask.

"It's a good posting, Jim," she'd says, tugging one curl of her blonde hair. "Eighteen months isn't _too_ long, and it'll only be in the nearer parts of the Delta Quadrant. It's-we need the money, and I could get a job here, but I can't-" Her eyes are very large, and full of too many things. He knows it's hard for her to be planetside for too long-that she is labelled George Kirk's Widow even more than he is George Kirk's Son.

"It's okay, Mom," he replies, giving her a cocky grin. "I'll take care of myself. You know I can."

"I do know. And Frank will help," she adds, kissing his hair and rubbing his back. "He'll keep you safe while I'm gone."

She still stubbornly believes the best of Frank, so he's still here. But when she leaves, he's as bad as ever.

He gets Dad's antique Corvette out of storage and makes Jim clean it, talking about how much it'll bring in when he sells it. Privately, Jim vows never to let him.

On the day he turns twelve, he drives it over a cliff.

* * *

Jim is thirteen. Tarsus IV is the Galaxy's premiere pioneer school, so the ads say, and his Mom is resigned to it.

"You can't stay on Earth alone, and Frank is-" her voice goes angry, and she breaks off. They've been divorced for four months, and there are three restraining orders in place. She _finally_ believed everything. It's too little too late, but he'll take what he can get. "You can't stay on Earth alone," she repeats. "This next mission is only a year, but that's plenty of time for you to get to know the community and go through the semester."

"I don't want to go to a pioneer school," he says, scowling.

Her mouth is a tight line, stern. "With your record, none of the other schools will take you. Your behavior lately has been..." She sighs, shakes her head. "It just keeps getting worse, Jim. What's next? I won't have you end up in prison." The shuttle is cramped, so she has to twist to put an arm around him.

He turns his head away.

"It sounds like a nice school," she says. "With nice people. They'll teach you to work hard. And you'll be off-planet. That's what you want, isn't it?"

The whole thing sounds awful to him. But it isn't like he has much choice at this point, and going without a fight might mean he gets out sooner.

So he acquiesces. "Yeah, it is. Maybe it'll be... okay."

Her shoulders loosen and she exhales. "It will be."

When the shuttle arrives and they unload his scant belongings, she fixes his hair and kisses his forehead. "You will be good, won't you? At least try."

He nods, and gives the thinnest of smiles. "Yeah. I'll try."

* * *

Jim is fourteen.

He feels old-so old that sometimes he half wishes that each day were his last, just so he could be done and _rest_.

He has taken a life, and that will never leave him. He has learned not to trust anyone who wants something from him.

He knows what it is to starve.


	2. Chapter 2

This half is considerably lighter than the first. It doesn't go into extreme depth on most of the events of the movie, but that wasn't ever really the goal. I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think.

* * *

Jim is nineteen, and it feels great.

He's been looking forward to turning eighteen since he was ten, but even with all that anticipation, he still can't quite believe just how plain _good_ it feels.

Nobody can control him now. Nobody's responsible for him, except himself, and he makes his own choices. He doesn't have to worry about being dragged back home by an officer, or getting a disciplinary report sent to his mom, or having yet another grade school teacher comment on the fact that, despite all their high hopes, he looks to be a lost cause.

The college professors don't care if he shows up with a black eye, or if he shows up at all. They've reached an agreement of mutual blindness. They don't comment on his less-than-stellar citizenship, and he doesn't comment on the flasks of alcohol that he sees slip into coffee mugs or the fact that their inter-faculty trysts might be visible from Mars.

"Congratulations, Mr. Kirk," they say, when he earns a bachelor's degree in six months. "We knew you had it in you."

The irony is not lost on him, but he flashes charming grins and thanks them for their wonderful, shaping influences.

He picks up his diploma early and blows off graduation. Pomp and Circumstance has never been his style.

* * *

Jim is twenty-three, and he's had a Very Bad Week.

(The letters are capitalized, even in his head.)

"A shot of your finest, barkeep," he says, sliding onto the stool and slumping down. He's a regular here, has spent nearly as much time on this stool as he has at his crappy kitchen table, and the man behind the counter puts up a double with a raise of his eyebrows.

"Bad day, Kirk?"

He raises the glass, then downs it in two swallows.

Torrell the barkeeper shakes his head. "I'll leave you to it, then."

Jim rubs his hands over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers, and takes three slow breaths. Frustration is a slow burn, most of the time, but today it's hot and fiery.

So he downs two more shots and listens to the low chatter around him, willing his brain to just shut _up_.

Then a new voice, female and authoritative and with a hint of a lilting accent, comes from beside him.

"That's a lot of drinks for one woman," he says, after she rattles off her list. He gives her a look that's half teasing and half invitation.

One of her eyebrows quirks. "And a shot of Jack," she adds.

"Make that two shots. Her shot's on me."

"Her shot's on her," she insists, and sits. "Thanks, but no thanks."

With that smooth rejection, he's intrigued.

And of course, before their conversation is even over, he ends up getting punched in the face.

(Torrell's expression, when he catches it, doesn't hold alarm so much as exasperation. _Again, really_? It seems to say. Jim's proud that he's finally desensitised the guy.)

After the metaphorical bullets have flown, and Jim has shoved half a box of tissues up his nose, he sits across from the Starfleet stiff and doesn't even try to look interested.

He maintains an aloof expression and brushes off all Pike's comments until his parting blow.

"Your father was captain of a Starship for twelve minutes. He saved eight hundred lives, including yours." His eyes hold a challenge. "I dare you to do better."

* * *

He's never been able to turn down a challenge. He tosses his keys to the first construction worker who gives his bike an envious glance, and pauses to give Pike a cocky look.

"Four years?" He grins, all teeth. "I'll do it in three."

* * *

Jim is twenty-four, and McCoy thinks it's a miracle he's kept himself alive for this long.

In honor of that miracle, he takes him out for drinks. Jim is pale, looking fully prepared to drown himself in Scotch. He doesn't even flirt with the lady serving drinks, which is how McCoy knows something is really wrong.

"Alright, spill. What's the matter?"

He gets a tight grimace in return. "I don't celebrate my birthday, Bones. I haven't since I was four and I told my mom I didn't want to anymore so she could stop looking like she'd cry when she lit the candles. I just don't."

"Well, you're going to tonight," McCoy says cheerfully, and Jim looks wounded.

"_Bones_."

He loses the joking tone and leans his elbow on the counter, lowering his voice. "Listen, Jim. I know today's got mixed meaning for your family. Your old man died. I get that. But _you_ didn't, and that's just as important. You're here, and somehow you've managed not to die for twenty-four years now. You're worth celebrating. Got it?"

"Sure. Thanks, Bones," Jim says quietly, looking at the pattern on the counter. McCoy slugs him in the shoulder.

"Now drink your shot and watch the game with me. That's enough of a heart to heart for one night. A whole year, if we're lucky. And if you tell anybody I said any of that..." He leaves the threat hanging and knocks back a glass of something that tastes like his Grandmother's spiked raspberry lemonade.

They sit in silence for several long minutes, then Jim gets a mulish look on his face. "What'd'you mean I've _managed not to die_?"

Bones gives him a look. "You know what I mean."

Jim scowls playfully. "Drink your prune juice, old man."

Bones ruffles the kid's hair in the way he knows Jim hates, and smirks.

It's a better night than either of them expected.

* * *

Jim is twenty-six, and he's a captain.

A _captain_.

When they tell him the news, after things have settled down and the sense of tragedy is a dull ache instead of raw pain, he laughs out loud.

And when Pike presents him with the command of the Enterprise, his expression is professional, but they share an amused look through glinting eyes.

_Four years? I'll do it in three. _

A captain is a huge step up from just making officer, but somehow Pike doesn't seem at all surprised. Jim is a little overwhelmed with how _much_ these people seem to believe in him.

"Are you relieved, sir?"

Pike smiles at him. "I am relieved."

* * *

Jim is twenty-eight, and he's happier than he ever imagined being.

The events with Jim Harrison- Khan, were tough. They were nothing compared to Nero, to the destruction of Vulcan and nearly seeing Earth destroyed, too, but they were tough.

They've gotten past it. The memorial service seemed to be a final chapter. A sense of closure, not only for the tragedies they experienced at the hands of Khan, but for those on Vulcan, that still left pain in their wake. It gave a sense of closure, of finality, and most of all of acceptance that gave an ability to move on.

And they have moved on.

A five-year mission. He still can't believe it, six months in. The fact that they've entrusted him with this leaves him in a rare state- speechless.

"Captain, the away team is awaiting your orders." Spock's hands are clasped behind his back, one eyebrow lifted. "Will you be accompanying them?"

Jim sighs, giving Spock a rueful grin. "Better not. Bones would have my head. He hasn't cleared me for anything more strenuous than sitting here and signing off on reports."

"So you wish me to..."

"Tell 'em to take off," he says, leaning back. "And I want that shuttle back in one piece."

Spock nods. "Indeed, sir. I will inform them. In the meantime, I believe that you have a follow-up appointment to keep."

Dang the guy's uncanny memory. Jim makes a face. "Alright, alright, I'll go to sickbay. You have the Conn."

Spock looks a little smug. Jim's getting better at reading him- most of his hints of emotion show around the corner of his mouth or in his eyes. And those infernal eyebrows.

"Try not to enjoy yourself too much," he says, and hauls himself out of the captain's chair.

The crew greets him on his way to meet his doom via hyposprays, and he returns their greetings with a bright smile. They are _good _people, brave and intelligent and so much better than he deserves.

Even Spock (infuriating though he may be, at times) is a superior first officer, and on good days they make quite a team.

"Finally decided to show up, I see," Bones scowls. Jim flops down on the bed.

"You can thank Spock for that."

"Think I'll pass. Sit up, kid, so I can make sure your lungs are still working."

"You really only _need _one lung," Jim says, sitting up and tugging his shirt off. "I don't see why you're making such a big deal out of it."

Bones gives him such a look of exasperation that Jim laughs out loud. "I know, Bones. I'll behave."

"I'll believe that when I see it." Bones checks him over, jabs him with a pain reliever, and grumbles some more. He's happiest when he has something to grumble over, Jim knows, so really he's doing the man a favor with his frequent injuries.

(If he told Bones that, though, he's pretty sure he'd find himself drooling into the carpet for the next seventy-two hours.)

When he's cleared to head back to the bridge, he puts his uniform back on and stretches, giving an exaggerated yawn. "See ya tonight for dinner?"

"If none of your brilliant explorers manage to get themselves half-killed, I'll be there." Bones hands him a tall glass bottle of water. "And drink this by the end of Alpha shift. You're dehydrated."

"Do I have to?"

"I can hook you up and give it intravenously if you'd rather."

Jim concedes. "Ok, you win."

Bones smirked. "Of course I do. Now get out of here, you're distracting the nurses."

Jim gives a flirty grin to the red-headed nurse a few beds away, and ducks the hypo that Bones chucks at him. He grins all the way back to the bridge.

He can't stop expecting all this to end. It seems to good to be true.

But then it just keeps _going_. He's got a great crew, an amazing ship, and they're seeing places nobody from Earth has ever seen before.

He settles back into the captain's chair, gives Spock a nod, and smiles.

Maybe he could get used to it.

* * *

Winona looks at the lines around her son's eyes, smile lines and stress lines and laugh lines, and she resists the urge to touch the comm screen.

He's thirty-two, and she hasn't seen him since he was twenty-five.

"Hi, Mom," he says, and gives her an uncertain look.

She breathes out, and smiles. "Jim."

"It's good to see you," he says, returning her smile tentatively. "You look good."

"So do you." Winona leans a little closer, wishing she could be there with him. Could touch the scar above his left eyebrow-from Tarsus, and he'd never let them take a dermal regenerator to it-and smooth the errant pieces of hair and _hold _him. "Command suits you."

He gives a shy laugh, and rubs the back of his neck. "Thanks. I'm-I'm doing my best, you know?"

"I do know. I'm so proud of you." She speaks softly. "Your father would be very proud of you too."

He looks up, his eyes bright. "Thank you."

There's a brief pause, then Jim exhales. "We don't have much longer. Direct comm is expensive. But I wanted to tell you that I... I love you, Mom. And I forgive you. It wasn't your fault, so I forgive you."

Winona feels a weight leave her chest that she hadn't known was there. "Thank you, Jim. I love you too."

"And... Our mission's gonna end a little before Christmas, two years from now. Think you could be planetside?"

She lets out a laugh. "Yes, I think I could."

"Good." Jim smiles again, and it's a Captain's smile, confident and bold. "I'll see you then."

"See you."

The comm unit shuts down, leaving silence in its wake, and she presses her hand to her mouth.

She is _so _proud of him.

* * *

When he sees Sam for the first time in twenty-four years, he's thirty-three. It happens completely by accident, as everything in his life seems to, but he isn't complaining.

They're on a routine mission to Telron VI, to check up on how the new Star Base there is progressing. It's supposed to be the last stop before they head back to Earth.

"Captain, are you certain you wish to remain with the ship?" Spock asks, standing on the transporter pad. "It may be some time before you have this opportunity again."

Jim looks back, toward the door, and nods. "You know what? I will come." He steps up, exhales, and gives a grin.

"Alright, Scottie. Four to beam down."

Scottie returns his grin, and tips off a sloppy salute. "Aye aye, Cap'n."

The familiar hum starts up, and a tingling sensation tugs the base of his stomach. He closes his eyes and when he opens them, he's on an alien world.

That'll never get old.

"This way, sir," the security officer says. "We're supposed to meet Commander Jenkins at the Base."

So they're walking down the main road, through a bright, clean city that looks a lot like 21st century Earth. (The Telronians have warp capabilities, but it seems they didn't feel the need to bring their advanced technology into play in their decor.)

"If you look to your right, Captain, you'll see..."

And Jim's heart skips a beat.

There's a familiar head of dirty blonde hair, a laugh that shoots straight through his chest, and he can't breathe.

"...Sam?"

The man turns, and his green eyes go wide. "Jimmy?"

He races forward. Jim meets him in the middle, to be enveloped in a crushing embrace. Sam's still taller, leaner, and he hugs Jim like he hasn't been hugged in decades. Suddenly he feels nine years old again. "I'm so sorry," Sam whispers." I've never forgiven myself for leaving you."

Jim buries his face in Sam's shoulder, inhaling. Any lingering anger he still had has evaporated. "I forgive you. You did what you had to do."

Sam's heart is a steady beat in his ear. Jim lets out a shaky laugh. "I still can't believe it's you. What are you doing here?"

"I live here now. I have for almost ten years. What are _you_ doing here?" Sam asks, pulling back to look at Jim's face.

"Starfleet business," he says, and with that, he remembers his team. He turns, to see them staring at him, looking alarmed.

"Captain?" Ensign Sato asks, her hand twitching toward her phaser.

Spock knows about Sam (Jim told him about it once, when he was hyped up on painkillers). His eyes are full of understanding, and one of his Spock-smiles.

Sam's head turns toward him. "_Captain_?"

Jim flushes, but he plays it off with a grin. "Yeah, Sammy. Don't you get the news out here?"

"I've been busy." Sam claps him on the back, beaming. "Well good job, little brother. I knew you had it in you."

He shakes hands with Sato and Gamora, then gives Spock a neat Vulcan salute and a fairly well-pronounced greeting. Spock's eyebrows go up.

Jim throws an arm around Spock's shoulder. "Sammy, this is Spock, my first officer. Spock, Sam."

As it turns out, Sam is one of the main reasons they're trying for a Star Base on this planet. He's an agriculturist meets scientist, and his replicators taste more like home-grown food than anything Starfleet's seen.

So he gives them a tour of his facility, and Jim (professionalism tossed out the window) keeps an arm around him the whole time.

"You're sure you don't want to come back with us?" He asks, when it's time for them to depart. Sam sighs.

"I'll miss you something fierce, Jim, but this is my home now. I've got a life here. My wife and kids are on vacation, but if you're ever in the system again... Drop in. They'd love to meet you."

Jim chokes. "Wait a second. You're _married_?"

Sam ruffles his hair. "Yeah. Some people do that, you know."

"Well, yeah, but..."

"You'll understand when you're older," Sam says, his eyes laughing. Jim scowls and pushes him.

"I hated it when you'd tell me that."

"I know. That's why I did it."

Jim's throat closes up. He hugs Sam again, fiercely.

"I love you," he says, open. Sam lets his chin rest on Jim's head.

"I love you too. Proud of you."

His communicator clicks. "Cap'n?" Scotty asks. "We're due to head back."

"I gotta go," Jim says, stepping back. "Take care, yeah?"

"You too. Come back soon."

Jim beams, and nods. "I will."

* * *

Their homecoming is quite a shindig. Jim can't escape the pomp and circumstance this time, but he doesn't mind it quite so much. His crew deserves it, and for them, he'll do anything. Even smile and wave through a veritable parade.

Still, he's glad when everything's died down and they're allowed to disperse for leave. It's almost Christmas, and true to her word, his Mom is in town.

They celebrate a week early, since she's getting ready to head out, and he hugs her. She's older, more fragile, but still with bright fiery eyes and a warm smile that's just for him.

"You did well, Jim," she says, and kisses his forehead. "You're a good captain."

"Thanks, Mom," he responds, quietly. It feels strange to have her so openly proud of him. He doesn't think she's just seeing the ghost of his father anymore, either. She's proud of _Jim_, and it just makes him want to do even better.

"Merry Christmas," she says, and he laughs.

"Merry Christmas." He adjusts his needlepoint Christmas sweater. "We Kirks don't do anything conventionally, do we?"

"No," Mom says, her sigh fond. "No, not really."

Neither of them know when they'll see each other next, but it doesn't bother them. After all the time they've lost, they're going to make up for it.

He looks forward to that.

* * *

"Jim, are you certain that this is necessary?" Spock eyes his sweater with distaste. "My Mother never mentioned this as part of Yuletide celebrations."

"It's family tradition, Spock," Jim says, elbowing him. "And you should like it! I picked out the same color as your uniform, so you don't even had to adjust your senses or anything."

"It is wery kind of you to have us, Captain," Chekov says, his curls askew under a Santa hat. His grin is blinding.

"Sure, Chekov. It wouldn't be Christmas without you guys."

They're gathered in Uhura's living room, since she's the only one who actually has a permanent residence here, and Kirk bought them all old-style Christmas sweaters in addition to his actual gifts. Any of them who didn't have someplace else to go for the holiday are here, and it feels nice. Comfortable.

"I think you look handsome," Uhura says, and kisses the top of Spock's head. His ears flush, but he doesn't protest the sweater again.

"I brought a bottle of me finest," Scotty announces. "Figured since we're all off duty we can finally try it out."

"Mr. Scott, I think that's the best idea I've heard from you all year." Bones holds out his mug of (spiked) egg nog, and Scotty tips some in.

Bones, for all his grumbling, is the one who leads them in carols once he's had a little more to drink. Spock watches without singing, but the corners of his mouth are turned-up, so Jim knows he's happy to be there.

Chekov joins in in Russian, and Jim slings one arm around his shoulder and the other around Scotty's, and the three of them harmonize atrociously.

It might just be the best holiday Jim's ever had.

* * *

The viewscreen stretches wide before him, a glimpse of the stars ahead that he'll never get enough of. The bridge is in a state of quiet, everybody holding their breath.

Jim's fingers rest on the edge of the Captain's chair, his heart thudding in his chest. He can't keep an awed grin off his face. A second five-year mission, and he's still got his ship and his crew with him. His family.

He'd pulled every string within his reach, and then some. He's pretty Spock Prime joined in, too, despite his nonchalance.

"The ship is prepared for launch, Captain," Sulu says, turning back to give him an open smile. "On your command."

Jim looks up, to Spock on his right and Bones on his left, and gives a breathless grin. "Ready?"

"I am, Jim," Spock says, eyes warm.

Bones claps his shoulder. "As I'll ever be."

Jim turns to face front, and exhales. "Lieutenant Sulu? Take us out."

Sulu's response is fervent. "Yes, sir."

The engines hum and the ship takes off, into the vastness of space and the freedom of exploration.

Jim Kirk is thirty-five, and he's got the whole universe ahead of him.


End file.
